and hope,
this life and the next, for yonder scarlet hat, which is after all of no
more worth than this jingling head-gear of mine."

"Deafening the spiritual ears far more, it may be," said Ambrose, "since
_humiles exaltaverint_."

It was no small shock that there, in the midst of the nave, the answer
was a bound, like a ball, almost as high as the capital of the column by
which they stood. "There's exaltation!" said Randall in a low voice,
and Ambrose perceived that some strangers were in sight. "Come, seek
thy brother out, boy, and bring him to the banquet. I'll speak a word
to Peter Porter, and he'll let you in. There'll be plenty of fooling
all the afternoon, before my namesake King Hal, who can afford to be an
honester man in his fooling than any about him, and whose laugh at a
hearty jest is goodly to hear."

Ambrose thanked him and undertook the quest. They parted at the great
west door of the Abbey, where, by way of vindicating his own character
for buffoonery, Randall exclaimed, "Where be mine ass?" and not seeing
the animal, immediately declared, "There he is!" and at the same time
sprang upon the back and shoulders of a gaping and astonished clown who
was gazing at the rear of the procession.

The crowd applauded with shouts of coarse laughter, but a man, who
seemed to belong to the victim, broke in with an angry oath, and "How
now, sir?"

"I cry you mercy," quoth the jester; "'twas mine own ass I sought, and
if I have fallen on thine, I will but ride him to York House and then
restore him. So ho! good jackass," crossing his ankles on the poor
fellow's chest so that he could not be shaken off.

The comrade lifted a cudgel, but there was a general cry of "My Lord
Cardinal's jester, lay not a finger on him!"

But Harry Randall was not one to brook immunity on the score of his
master's greatness. In another second he was on his feet, had wrested
the staff from the hands of his astounded beast of burden, flourished it
round his head after the most approved manner of Shirley champions at
Lyndhurst fair, and called to his adversary to "come on."

It did not take many rounds before Hal's dexterity had floored his
adversary, and the shouts of "Well struck, merry fool!" "Well played,
Quipsome Hal!" were rising high when the Abbot of Westminster's yeomen
were seen making way through the throng, which fell back in terror on
either side as they came to seize on the brawlers in their sacred
precincts.